


We Can't But We Will

by TeamHPForever



Series: The Art of Motorcycle Borrowing [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1913574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamHPForever/pseuds/TeamHPForever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a mission goes wrong, Clint is Phil's extraction. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>I just really wanted Phil and Clint on a motorcycle, okay?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can't But We Will

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a pair of guys riding a motorcycle over the weekend and these two were the first thing I thought of. The feels that came along with it were unexpected.

Clint can pinpoint the exact moment everything goes wrong. The entire east wing of the building he’s watching through the scope explodes. He’s safe in his position on top of another building a respectable distance away, but he’s not the only one on this mission. Clint’s entire body tenses up as he resists the urge to run toward it.

Coulson is in there. He’s in there and he could be dead and Clint needs to _find_ him.

“Barton?” Coulson’s voice comes through the comm scratchy and barely there. “You’re my extraction. Be at the west gate in five minutes.”

There are so many things Clint wants to say right now. _Are you okay? What happened? Who do I need to shoot for scaring me like this?_ Instead he says, “Yes, sir” but Coulson is already gone.

It takes only seconds for him to scale the side of the building to the ground, two minutes to hotwire someone’s motorcycle in the parking lot (he’s only borrowing it), and thirty-six seconds to hit the road. A second explosion rocks the ground and sends up a cloud of smoke. Clint pushes the bike faster.

The wheels careen to a stop on the loose gravel just outside of the gate. Coulson’s waiting for him. Blood is drying on his chin from a split lip, his suit is covered in ash, and he smells like gunpowder and fire. But he’s alive and standing and okay.

Clint lets out a sigh of relief.

“Where’d you get the bike, Barton?” Coulson asks, even as he’s swinging his leg over the back to climb up behind him.

“Not important.” Barton turns it around and peels away from the building. He doesn’t know where they’re going and he doesn’t care. If he’s Coulson’s extraction team, then he’s going to get his handler as far away from here as possible.

The wind whipping around them cools the edge of Clint’s fear. It helps that Coulson’s hands are settled on his waist—not holding on, just resting there in case—and his warmth is plastered against Clint’s back.

Coulson is okay. He’s here and they’re riding along a straight country road like hellhounds are after them. They’re probably in the next county over by the time Coulson tugs on the back of Clint’s jacket. He takes the hint and slows down, finally coming to a stop next to a wheat field.

Clint can tell immediately that something has changed. Coulson has slipped into a more relaxed posture and he doesn’t remove his hands from Clint’s waist even when he kicks down the stand.

“Clint…” Coulson murmurs, sliding one hand up to the archer’s shoulder to encourage him to turn around. Clint does so reluctantly, staring at the ground instead of looking his handler in the eyes.

Coulson never calls him by his first name when they’re on missions. It’s only when they’re alone and pretenses slip and Clint doesn’t feel like just another SHIELD agent. This isn’t supposed to be one of those times. This is a _mission,_ and Hill or Sitwell could be showing up any minute to airlift them away for debriefing.

“What’s going on, Clint?” Coulson asks when he doesn’t say anything.

“I thought you were dead, sir.” The title snaps in the air between them, a harsh reminder that they _are_ SHIELD agent and handler and Coulson shouldn’t be staring at him like this is some leisurely drive where they can stop for a quickie on the side of the road. Clint expects Coulson to let go but if anything he only grips the archer’s waist tighter.

“Clint, look at me.” He finally does, moving his eyes slowly from the ground to the man next to him. Coulson’s lip is bleeding again, just a bit, but he’s smiling anyway. “I’m fine. I was on the other side of the building at the time of the blast. I’m _fine._ ”

Clint can’t take it anymore. He needs to be facing Coulson properly, not twisted around like this. He stands up and Coulson’s eyes flash with worry for a moment before Clint throws his leg back over the bike. There isn’t time to think before he’s closing the bit of space left between them and kissing Coulson hard on the mouth. It tastes like gunpowder and blood and far too much time since the last kiss.

Clint pulls away gasping when Coulson tries to shift himself forward and ends up grinding against him. “Can we go home, Phil?”

“I think I can delay our debriefing a bit.” Phil smiles and runs a hand through Clint’s ruffled hair. Before they can say anything else, the sound of a chopper cuts through the air. They take advantage of the few seconds before it comes into sight to push themselves an appropriate distance apart.

“You should probably take the bike back first,” Coulson shouts over the noise of the chopper landing in the field not far from them.

“I was starting to get rather fond of it.” Clint turns himself around and runs a hand over the warm leather where Coulson had been sitting.

“Don’t worry.” Coulson gives him a scorching look that sends a shiver down his spine. “I’m sure I can requisition one sometime. For mission purposes, you know.”

Clint grins back at him and fires up the engine again. He watches until Coulson climbs into the chopper and then takes off down the open road. The sooner he gets the bike back where it belongs, the sooner he can be with Coulson where he belongs.


End file.
